Body Bags lyrics - 50 Cent

 Nigga (yeah), nigga, you know I don't fuck with them niggas. Them niggas pussy. Sucka ass niggas.

I don't like either one (I don't even like 'em). But the other night I'm in the gambling spot.

Nigga come up in here – boom – hit the door. "Get the fuck on the floor, bitch, get down on the floor."

I turn around like, "What?" Niggas like, "get down!" (When was this?) I'm like, "nigga, I got on white linen."

Fuck it, I mean we gotta kill what we eat, right? It's not a problem, it's really not a problem. Southside

Okay, the dope addin' up, the coke addin' up

The smoke addin' up, my pockets are fattened up

I got bitches in my bedroom, nerds on computers

Diamonds 'round my neck, straps for my shooters

I made it, look ma', I made it

I grind so hard to get here I can't be faded

I got lawyers on the line, five different kinds

Five different crimes, same .45

Got a plan to turn to premise, see, a nigga ain't lyin'

Cause they ain't gon' say I did it and I ain't gon' say I did it

And I might go back and forth to court, better bet I get acquitted

Can you dig it? Nigga, can you dig it?

Shit changed, a nigga ain't broke

I had a safe size as a shoe box, it felt like a vault

Now I got real money, that "fuck how you feel" money

That "nigga, you look at me wrong, get killed" money

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual

Hop out, hammer out to get at you

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual

.45 lettin' off some shit at you

You gon' be put in a body bag

You won't get a chance to fire back

I peep my swag in the mirror, I think I got a crush on me

I don't want no wack bitches touchin' me

Tailor-made threads, satin sheets on my bed

Get a bitch sea-sick, waves all on my head

Diamonds in my ear, Baccarat chandelier

Gabbana underwear, I'm so fly it ain't fair

Every day a different dime piece

Rose Gold, a different time piece

Hublot, AP or Rollie

Your bitch and your jeweler know me, homie

I'm bulletproof, go 'head, take a shot at me

You be a dead nigga like the last one that got at me

My shirt level three so I ain't got a vest on

My heart like ice, my chest like Teflon

I'm a nightmare right here, just me and my knife, nigga

Don't let me find out you ain't 'bout that life, nigga

It's doomsday, I mean goon day

I get the orders, like, "air out the room, Dre"

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual

Hop out, hammer out to get at you

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual

.45 lettin' off some shit at you

You gon' be put in a body bag

You won't get a chance to fire back

The mollies had a shorty ass trippin' strippin' in my kitchen

Push my thumb in her ass while I was strokin' her kitten

I be in my own zone, still clutchin' the chrome

Talk state of the art, you will see 'nine to foe

My passport need pages, I'm fuckin' round' out in London

Jetlag from jets, wrist lit baguettes

Trippin' in my charm, look bitch, I'm a don

So shit go how I say it go, fuck if I'm right or wrong

My paper long, bomb kush in the bong

It feels like I'm dreamin' cause a nigga on

I'm so far from a hand-me-down, I'm out in Miami now

My bitch no speak no Ingles, she fresh off the boat

She give me neck, what you expect? I got connects for the dope

I'm no joke, blow 30k on the coke, stuff ten in the coat

Nigga, front, I'll have a hand full of dreadlocks

Bitch, I hit your ass with a headshot

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual

Hop out, hammer out to get at you

You gon' be part of my body bag ritual

.45 lettin' off some shit at you

You gon' be put in a body bag

You won't get a chance to fire back